multiple universes theory
by quintssnce
Summary: the multiverse (or meta-universe) is the hypothetical set of possible universes, including the universe in which we live; or, judy and nick in every universe. au and drabbles.
1. off-kilter

_starting a one-shot series about wildehopps bc im fucking furry trash .. .. am i sorry? no._

/

off-kilter; or, the one where the tables are turned. (role reversal au)

/

Judy Hopps is slippery, and Nick finds that she does not fail to mention it during their second encounter at a run down bar that she works at, plagued with mold and various types—too many types—of tequila. She begins her interrogation before he even does his, which is after he orders a scotch on the rocks.

"I'm barely in the systems," she remarks with a frown after she scribbles it down, tapping her pen against her pad of paper. "My connections run pretty deep. Farther than the fuzz can find. Really, impossible for the fuzz to find. So how'd you do it?"

Nick settles deeper in the uncomfortable chairs and studies her. She looks like she'd be cute and demure and classically pretty in another lifetime—and she's certainly pretty—but the rings on her paws and the low cut crimson shirt tied close around a tiny waist is carved more out of dangerous than any of the other traits. Her eyes are equally as purple and damaging as ultraviolet rays.

"Does it matter, at this point?" he asks finally. "You've already been found."

"Trying to fix my mistakes," Judy replies. "So I won't screw up again next time."

"It wasn't easy, you know. Doubtful that anyone else could've caught you."

"So how did you do it?"

"Like you said before—connections. Mine run deeper than yours ever will."

Judy smiles, looking wry.

"You're an enigma, Wilde."

He shrugs. "Life's more fun when you're harder to read."

Judy tilts her head. "You know, orange is looking better and better on you every time we meet."

"Is it really?"

"It's a good look on you, actually."

"So is every look," Nick answers deftly, readjusting the hideous vest.

She laughs, and it sounds like sun-kissed summers and blue skies.

"Let me get your drink, Officer."

As she goes back to pour him his scotch whiskey, Nick glances around the area. The joint looks bleached with age, the walls dark and the windows haven't been cleaned in a while. There aren't many mammals around. He watches Judy hop up to get the liquor bottle off of the shelf and bites back a comment about her height.

"So, Slick Nick, what do you need me for?" Judy resumes, setting the drink down in front of it. He doesn't pick it up immediately. "I haven't got all day, sugar. Duty awaits."

"As does mine," Nick replies with a sharp-toothed grin. "Slick Nick. Haven't heard that in a while. Since third grade, in fact."

"Dusting off an oldie, I suppose."

Nick chokes out a laugh, wiping away a bead of condensation dripping down his glass. "I need your help on a case. High profile. I'm pretty sure you're indirectly affiliated, so I need your help."

She leans across the wooden counter to look him in the eyes. "What's in it for me?" she asks simply.

"Lots of benefits." Nick traces the rim of his glass with a claw. It's greasy. "First, you get to spend time with me, and who wouldn't want that? Second, you get pardoned from the charges when I solve the case. No one will even bat an eye in your direction, and—" he sips his scotch, which burns his next words, "we know that's exactly what you want, Carrots."

Judy raises an eyebrow. "You're going to want to refrain from calling me 'Carrots'."

Nick leans back with an easy smile. He touches his belt for his recorder and smiles when he feels cool metal. "Well, what'll you do about it?"

"You're wasting my time," Judy says, definitely miffed now.

Nick scoffs. "What, is a little questioning taking away from your sea of customers? Pretty sure you rely on my tip for your entire salary, sweetheart."

Judy rolls her eyes. Nick presses record.

"Wilde, this is only a side job. I make two hundred bucks a day, three hundred sixty five days a _year_. My salary would _hardly_ drop if you decided to be a dick."

Nick frowns. Presses pause on his recorder. "Really? Because according to my research, you've reported…" He takes out her file and dramatically flips through, and gasps, " _No salary?_ Does that mean that you've been committing federal tax evasion?" He takes a sip, shakes his head in disbelief just for fun, and wonders, "Well, this doesn't add up. Whatever will we do?"

He watches the delicate line of Judy's jaw clench with amusement. "How will you prove it to the court?" she asks. "It's my word against yours."

Nick presses play.

"Actually, it's your word against yours," Nick says pleasantly, mockingly, as a pitched and crackling version of Judy's voice voices her salary, "so I don't think court will have a problem with _that_."

Judy's gaping—very unlike her usual put-together, no-nonsense expression—but he prefers it to the latter.

He also very much prefers the resigned smile that Judy's face stretches into afterward.

"So," he continues, "it's your call, _babygirl_. Want to help me with me with this case?"

A peal of surprised laughter blooms from Judy's lips and Nick's heartbeat stutters. " _Babygirl_?" she repeats. "I feel as though the nicknames are shifting from speciest to vaguely kinky."

"Would you still prefer Carrots?"

"Can't argue with that logic," Judy says, and she looks even more like danger when she smiles like _that_. "Okay, I'll bite. I'm yours for the afternoon, Slick, but no guarantees. I've got a business to run."

"Fan _tastic_ ," Nick replies, and gestures grandly to the tiny traffic car parked outside. "Ladies first. Welcome to your ride of luxury."


	2. black treacle

black treacle; or, judy and nick are in the same calculus class.

/

psst the high school au chapters are: _2\. black treacle_ & _8\. senior send-off_

/

There really isn't a way to describe how Judy feels when Nick Wilde taps her on the shoulder while she graphs a cubic equation, except for the term _miserable_ , which concisely condenses her despair and suffering into a single four-syllable word.

"What do you want, Nick?" she says without turning around. It's a practice test, which means he's technically not allowed to torture her with his advice, except that the calculus teacher is a recent college graduate, currently hungover and taking Advil from a Gazelle PEZ Dispenser from the other side of the room.

Obviously her hostile remark does nothing to deter the fox from letting her know what she confused on her current problem.

"How cordial of you, Hopps," Nick says, his tone light and voice quiet. She can hear him stretching from his seat to lean over her shoulder. "I just wanted to check if you got number four right. And it turns out you didn't. Good thing you're still graphing it."

Judy pauses momentarily and eyes him. He's too close and smells like soap and sandalwood and the crispness of cold air. It smells, admittedly, good.

" _Thank you_ , but I think that I did it correctly."

"You think?"

Judy grits her teeth. "If I didn't, do you _think_ I would say so?"

She watches over her shoulder as he pretends to think it over, green eyes a little more yellow in the saturated brightness of the ceiling lights, and turns back quickly to her work when he glances at her again. "Depends on how wounded your pride is."

"It's not," Judy replies curtly.

"Is it?" he asks back.

She presses a little harder with her pencil on the second curve.

He still doesn't move.

"Is there something else you want to add, Nick?" Judy forces out.

Nick laughs, a low, breathy snicker that fans across Judy's shoulder. His breath smells like mint bubblegum. "Doesn't _y_ equal 4 ⅓ when _x_ equals negative 2?"

Judy aggressively adds the arrows to the ends of her function. "I'm pretty sure it doesn't."

"You're pretty sure?"

The tip of her pencil snaps in a small explosion of graphite.

"Whoops," Nick says, loudly.

The teacher in the front doesn't even blink.

/

Judy knows that flat-out telling her friends that Nick is the most loathsome creature on the planet will do nothing to convince them that the fox is just that, but she says it anyways.

"Oh, Nicky's so charming," Fru Fru gushes, right at the mention of his name.

"Super handsome," Benjamin agrees. "So… _gentlemanly_."

"You both are traitors," Judy sighs, dropping her argument.

"Come on, Judy, have you seen his face?" Benjamin protests, bumping a meaty shoulder against hers, then sighing dreamily. "I mean, he's such a bad boy."

"Oh, he's bad alright. Terrible, even."

"What's so bad about him?" Fru Fru asks, her city drawl unintentionally condescending.

"Don't ask her that―" Benjamin starts.

"Everything!" Judy exclaims, interrupting the cheetah, who slaps a palm to his forehead. "His laugh, his sense of humor, the _despicable_ way he flirts with any mammal with a _pulse_ —"

"His 100 percent in Calculus," Benjamin adds with a long suffering sigh, looking pointedly at Fru Fru, who _giggles_.

"Oh Judy," Fru Fru says fondly, _amused_ , and Judy bristles. "You don't need a 100 all the time, you know—and you already have all As in everything."

"I know, but Nick—"

"—has a higher point score," the cheetah finishes drolly. His next words are muffled by the donut hole he shoves in his mouth. "And he's been waving it in your face since the first test of the semester."

"How?" the shrew interjects, her expression uncomfortably intrigued.

"He keeps winking at me before a test or a demonstration," Judy prattles off. "He taps my shoulder to remind me of an error, he _grins_ as he points out when I accidentally divide incorrectly, gives backhanded comments about how he _'expects more from a bunny like me'_ —"

"I think he's flirting with her," Benjamin interrupts again. "It's actually _so_ cute, Fru. Don't believe a word she says."

"I think he's being intrusive and demeaning," Judy answers sourly.

"I think that he's heading this way," Fru Fru says gleefully, turning around to watch the metal doors to the cafeteria being pushed open by none other than Nick Wilde and his friends.

Judy hides her head behind her paws as the fox ambles by. Fru Fru, friends with practically everyone, blows Nick a kiss.

Nick catches it, then makes a show of tucking it in his jean pocket. He turns his head to grin at Judy, a teasing, careless tilt of his mouth, that has the three snow leopards sitting behind Judy tittering.

Something picks up her heartbeat and her pulse races.

Judy grimaces anyway.

Both Benjamin and Fru Fru sing, " _He's into you!_ "

"I'm going to start sitting on the other end of the lunch room," says Judy.

/

Nick suggests tutoring on a Wednesday.

It happens when the Calc teacher hands back the class's practice tests, and Judy finds hers mildly greasy and marked 86 with a leaky red pen. She flips gingerly to the second page and finds problem four smattered with red ink, despite the short note written in cramped handwriting: _"Watch your negatives; this is a relation, not a function; when x is -2, y is 4 ⅓."_

She stares at the 86 only partially impassively, willing the number to somehow twist into an 100, when a persistent tap on her shoulder breaks her concentration.

"You were right, Nick," she says without turning around. "I got a terrible score."

"What was I right about again?" asks his voice, awful and smug. She can feel him leaning over this time; the scratchy fabric of his button down shirt brushes against her back and she can smell bar soap. "Oh, an eighty-six. That's not terrible, you liar―it's _proficient_."

"When have I only ever just wanted to be proficient?"

"Well, look at Little Miss Overachiever over here."

"Says the one with the 100 in the class."

"Ah, I can't take all the credit. Mr Paulson is absolutely taken by my charm and wit."

"Again, incredibly humble of you," Judy grumbles.

"Mm," Nick agrees, and his voice hums closer in her ear. "Again, you bring up that point unfailingly. Have you used any other methods that I've taught you?"

"Well, I used the box method for a problem," Judy answers only a little scathingly.

"That's my girl," he mutters goodnaturedly, seeming to ignore her spite, straining even closer to get a glimpse of her mistakes. The scruff of his neck brushes against her cheek.

"I'm not your girl," Judy says.

"Of course," Nick says.

He's too close.

Judy scoots to the side of her chair.

"Ah," Nick suddenly remarks, and his voice is insufferably pompous; Judy crosses her arms. "Number four."

"Number four," Judy repeats.

"Didn't I tell you?" Nick asks, leaning back into his seat. Judy can't help twisting back to glare at him. "It helps to listen, you know."

"Why on earth would I listen? To you, of all mammals?"

"That's unfortunate, I was going to suggest tutoring."

Judy shoots him a withering glare.

"Who asked you to make my decisions?"

Nick quirks the side of his mouth up. "I'm just _proposing_ _the alternatives_."

"How _slick_ of you."

Nick's grinning now, a real, genuine smile, and Judy thinks again about lunchtime two days ago with a fluttering lurch in her stomach.

"Is that a compliment? I feel like it was a compliment."

"I can assure you that it wasn't."

"Depends on the person giving it, I suppose."

She faces forward again, finding it harder to frown.

"Hey, listen," calls Nick's voice again, "I didn't finish my proposal."

"I'm not sure I want to hear it," Judy throws over her shoulder.

"Fair enough," comes the reply, which doesn't sound affected the slightest. "Hear me out, Hopps. Tutoring is just going to be a room full of apathetic seniors looking for a job. They don't give two shits about how you do in your class."

Judy releases a helpless laugh, turns around again and raises her eyebrows at Nick. "Now you're discouraging me from tutoring?"

"Now when did I say that?" Nick parrots back merrily. "I'm saying that in terms of options, you're really hitting that bottom of the barrel. Did you know that half of those suckers have a lower grade in their own Calc class than you, and that the other half doesn't give two shits about you?" He clicks his tongue and his expression shows a half hearted attempt at disapproval. "You wouldn't want that, would you?"

"Well, you're being decidedly vague," Judy comments with a sigh. "So who then?"

"Me, of course."

She stares blankly at Nick.

"What?"

" _Me_ , sweetheart. Have you gotten those ears checked lately?"

"I—I don't—"

"Let me give you a run-through of why I'm qualified," Nick interrupts, holding out his paw to count off the fingers. "First, I have a perfect score in the class. You do not."

Judy rolls her eyes. "Duly noted."

"Second, I hold interest in teaching you, _unlike_ the seniors, and third, we have _undeniable_ chemistry that'll make tutoring a lot more interesting. And enriching."

"No, we _don't_."

"You're right, what was I thinking?" Nick says easily. "This is math, not science. Fourth, my rates are dirt cheap. You wouldn't have to pay a penny."

"So you'd just tutor me for free?"

"Not exactly."

Hating herself for being so intrigued, Judy blurts, "Then what rates are they?"

"The kind where you really don't sacrifice anything, at all." The fox leans back, clearly pleased with the excessively long pause that he uses before saying with grandeur, "Go on a date with me."

Judy stares. Breathes out a slow breath.

"Don't worry, Carrots, it's not as if I don't have all day," Nick remarks leisurely.

"Don't call me 'Carrots,'" Judy automatically shoots back, melting from her shock. "And why would you want to go on a date with _me_? It's not as if you don't get more than your fair share of those! And I'm―you're two years older than me, Nick. It's almost―and I mean―"

"Whoa, slow down," Nick says. "It's all your choice, Judes."

Judy doesn't know whether it's a shiver or a bristle of resentment when he calls her "Judes". She decides that it's the resentment and pushes on.

"It seems a little inappropriate," she tries.

"Think of it as a study date then. No strings attached."

"And if I don't? Agree to the date, that is."

The triangles of Nick's ears stand up, clearly a sign of amusement. "Well, you'll just have to suck it with a tutor, I suppose. A pity, really."

"I don't need you," Judy says, one part appalled and two parts something else.

The sideways curl of his lips makes the two parts three.

"You don't need anyone, honey. I'm just offering _support._ "

"I'm fine on my own," she defends herself automatically.

"Sure, but consider this," he interjects, slyly, "there isn't anything stopping me from being the only one with a 100 percent in this class."

Judy decides that the _'something'_ is just her own incredulity.

"You are insufferable," she grits out.

"And you are a delight," Nick quips. "Have fun with your eighty-nine."

/

" _What_ do you think you're doing with _weed_?" Judy spits, _cries_ , at the lanky figure of the fox leans against the hooded shadow of the school building, rolling up sloppy joints of marijuana. "On _school grounds_ , no less?"

He's smiling―maybe smirking, she can never tell. "Lovely afternoon to you too, ma'am."

"Cut the 'formalities'," she snaps, glowering. "Your mocking mannerisms aren't a good look on you, Nick."

"No, but everything else seems to be," the fox muses, somehow managing to look regretful.

"Narcissism isn't a good look either."

Nick's lips quirk up again. "Is this how you pick up all your men?"

The suggestion has Judy sputtering.

"You―I would never―" Judy begins indignantly, then traces her steps back. "Well, first of all, you're hardly a _man_ ―"

"You're two grades younger than me," Nick reminds her. "I'd say I'm pretty old―at least, in _your_ eyes, also considering that―"

"―I'm offended that you would even suggest such an absurd idea," Judy cuts in again, speaking louder to stem his usual quips, "that I would pick up _you_ , of all mammals!"

"How absolutely unthinkable," Nick agrees. Judy flushes crimson beneath his entertained glance. "An overachiever like you with an irritating lowlife like me. How _degrading_."

"You're not a lowlife," Judy retorts before she knows what she's saying.

"Or so the lady says," replies Nick easily, sounding almost pleased.

Judy bites her lip, glances back at the dark green of marijuana curling out of the joints.

"Anyways, thank you for this lovely conversation," Nick says. She watches as he twists his torso to crack the kinks in his back, then pockets the joints. "I'll see you Monday."

Her eyes widen again as she remembers about the weed. "You aren't going to _smoke_ those, are you?"

"Nah," Nick says dismissively. He claps his paws and the sickly sweetness rolls over Judy, who coughs. "I don't do weed. It's for Finnick. He always comes home and lights up a few after he sees his dad, who's in jail. I make sure he can still function."

Judy swallows as her outrage fizzles out just as quickly as it came.

"Why did you tell me all of that?"

Nick just smiles, a little wryly.

"Why not?"

She clears her throat uneasily.

"Anyways," he finally says, stretching against red brick, "pleasure doing business with you, but I was actually planning on leaving, so if you'll excuse me."

"We haven't done business of any sort," Judy corrects with a frown.

"We _will_ do business if you want a better grade," Nick replies.

"Fat chance of that happening, Wilde. I'd sooner roll up joints for your friend than have you tutor me _and_ go on a date with me, no less."

"Charming as you are, my offer still stands," Nick hums with an irritatingly indifferent shrug, and―much to Judy's indignation―pats some marijuana off the frayed edges of his jeans. Fluffs of illegal drug drift to the ground. "The next exam's in five weeks, sugar. See you then."

Judy tries not to stare at him as he saunters off.

/

She gets an 79% on a Friday.

It's absurd, really, ridiculous, _laughable_ , how quickly her gut twists and her head spins, how quickly she sneaks a glance at Nick, usually already looking right at her with knowing eyes and mouth curved into a knife of a smile. It sets off something in her that feels too jittery to be irritation, too unfamiliar to be comfortable, mildly knowing.

And the thought prods her slowly at first, a whisper of a suggestion, that _maybe_ she should accept the offer of tutoring. It isn't terrible, after all, to get tutoring, and having to only go on _one_ date, with the so-called heartthrob of high school, no less. It wouldn't be _so_ bad to watch a movie with him or get food with him or look at him for a couple hours—

The rational part of Judy's brain rattles off too many reasons, but as she listens, it's repetitive fear and vague disdain from her prejudice. The credibility, she realizes, of both parts of her brain aren't as reliable as she had previously thought.

She glances at him again subconsciously.

He blows a bubble. Winks.

She turns around, a flush blooming on her face, and wonders for the first time that whether credibility and reason should be dictating her decisions.

/

"You made up your mind yet?" Nick asks one afternoon.

Judy looks at him. The Calc teacher has opened up the blinds, and bands of light spin the red of his fur into gold. He's a little too handsome, she thinks, with the stark yellow of the pencil in his dark paws and the creamy white of his neck rucked up on the collar of his untucked shirt.

"No," she replies slowly.

"Well," he says, and his eyes are sincere, "take your time, Hopps."

/

Judy's crush on Nick establishes itself officially during lunch that day, when Benjamin lets out a ear-bursting squeal and Fru Fru tells her _'I told you so'_ a total of 27 times.

/

A week later, Judy finds and approaches Nick's locker for the first time. He makes sure to point it out when she arrives with her ears tucked down, standing in front of him, staring at the navy buttons of his shirt.

"Two things," Nick begins, and his voice is cheery and pleasant. "First off, you found my locker. Which means you either like me a lot and knew where to find me, or you wanted to find me so bad you asked someone where my locker was."

"Oh, please," Judy says—she's already flushed red, which doesn't quite mark a _perfect_ start—but if Nick wants the conversation to start with their usual banter, then she isn't going to stop him. "Student government. I have connections too, you know."

"Got me there," Nick replies in his effortless way, closing the locker door. "Figured that a smart bunny like you would find me. So—" he rubs his paws together, "you've thought about my offer?"

"Yes. I've thought about it." Judy takes a breath ( _smart bunny like you_ flashes dimly in her head) and says resolutely, "I accept. Terms and everything."

This time Nick blinks. "Oh, what?" he asks, then his smile curves out, just like it always does. "I mean, that's great. Awesome." A pause. "Really?"

It feels surprisingly good to be on the other side of the exchange.

"Really," Judy repeats.

"You don't have to go on a date with me," Nick is saying, and his voice is different somehow. More cautious. "I was just teasing you the whole time, and I don't want to force you into it. It's okay if you don't want to go."

" _Nick_ ," Judy says. Anticipation and anxiety swarms in the pit of her stomach as she considers her next words; is it appropriate to sound interested in the date for an unacademic reason? "You're tutoring me for _free_. Going on a date with you is the least I can do. And I wouldn't mind."

"You wouldn't?"

"I wouldn't," Judy says again.

Nick's hands are shoved deep in his pockets, and then one side of his mouth lifts above the other and then he's looking at her like _that_ , like she's the most important mammal alive, like somehow agreeing to this deal completely skewed in Judy's favor is the best thing that's happened to him.

"I really like you, Judy," he says. "Did you know that?"

Her breath hitches, and she chokes on it. Gapes. She certainly hadn't expected _that_ , but the way that he's looking at her makes her ask herself how she didn't notice.

"No," she replies, unsteady, then adds shyly, "but it's certainly an added bonus to this deal."

Nick laughs a little. His grin is boyish; Judy's never seen it on him before.

"So I'm taking you out?" he asks.

"And tutoring me," Judy confirms. A beam falls out of the seams of her face. "The midterms are in three weeks."

"Can I kiss you when I drop you off?"

"Depends if there are strings attached."

"Ideally, there are."

"Are there?"

Nick pulls her into his arms, and he smells like soap and sandalwood and the crispness of cold air. "That's my girl," he says.


	3. your legs start running

your legs start running (and your head gets caught); or, nick's point of view.

/

notes: sorry for the delay in updates! my computer broke down the other day, so I had to do all my writing on my sisters ipad. this update is sloppy and the writing is definitely not my finest, but I'm trying to get myself to write more without revising so much along the way. this is my first time writing in second person, and I'm not gonna lie, it was a struggle. nevertheless, please enjoy this update, and don't be afraid to send requests!

EDIT 2/21/2017: i fixed some parts of it because some of the writing was absolutely _atrocious_ and even though i told myself i wasn't going to revise here i am . so what are you gonna do about it

/

The officer is a joke.

It―she―happens during a hustle―a relatively easy one, you're thinking; it's just trying to buy a _jumbo pop_ , for god's sake. Theoretically, it's a walk in the park, but you didn't intend it to be tedious and the ill-tempered elephant is more difficult than you'd have expected. It's okay, though, it's still just a walk in the park with a couple extra hurdles to trip over, and you're pretty sure you've got the situation under control until the rabbit hops in.

She's a pretty little thing, you'll admit it―strikingly violet eyes against light gray, noticeably wide hips, little bit delicate and a little bit rough at the same time. She's all quiet heroism but blazing intentions, and she's too short and too young and too naive for her own good. Her eyes are enormously cheerful and her meter maid hat looks absolutely ridiculous.

She handles the situation remarkably well―bringing up that health code violation―and you know that she's one of those: a small town hick, itching with ambition and trying to reach for goal after goal with starry eyes. It takes everything to keep yourself from making a snide comment about the her neon vest or the carrot pen clipped to her belt because she's _helping_ you, no matter how stupid she looks, and you'd take a free hustle over delivering a cheap insult any day.

And when you carry the cherry red popsicle out of the shop with your wrist held in Finnick's calloused paw, she looking up at you with that optimistic gleam in her eyes and you're thinking that orange doesn't look too bad on her. Probably gets better with age, and you're thinking that it's a safe bet that the ugly thing's going to be on her for a _long_ time.

She makes a comment about how "articulate" you are―you almost snort, it's _that_ bad, the way she's looking at you―but it seems like she genuinely believes in your constructed story, so it's really not too hard to smile and wave goodbye. But it's not before you leave when you notice the plastic gleam of her fox repellent, clipped right next to the carrot pen.

You honestly don't know what you expected, but you did not expect _that_.

/

She follows you, and it's almost as creepy as it sounds, except that she's a bunny with fox repellent and something resembling the hero syndrome, and you're fine with playing games. Actually, you look forward to when she confronts you. Which she does.

And when she does, it's exactly how you imagined it, her tapping her foot and pointing at you in an endearingly harmless attempt at being menacing. You can't lie, you're feeling smug and even more smug when you point out your permits and practically predict her future—it really is a game, and you're pretty sure you've just won a couple bonus points when you can see her face fall.

If it's not that, it's the resentment of her thinking that she knows everything about your life, which shows itself when she declares indignantly that you've never known hard work in your life. And you have. So you deliver your line point-blank, all clean corners, because you're thinking now that games aren't fun when the other won't play, and that this bunny needs to understand that's she going to get walked over. And that you'll be the first to do it.

You catch a glimpse of repellent as you walk away.

 _God_ , do you hope to never see her again.

/

Of course, you have to consider that nothing in your life usually goes your way, especially when the rabbit scoots up to you in her clown cart the next morning, smiling a little less than cordial, flipping open a legal pad. "Hi there!" she's saying, and you're groaning internally, because this rabbit is a goddamn _pest_. Also, you haven't had a coffee yet, because Finnick was running late. You've already decided that he's going to pay for it later.

You reply with something humorously biting; honestly, you can't remember anything except for the stung look on the bunny's face, so mission accomplished. As a result, she cuts in front of you, has the nerve to hustle you―with her stupid carrot pen and federal tax evasion, what the hell, you doesn't even know her _name_ ―and use your catchphrase right back at you. And it's too early in the morning so before you know it, Finnick—the _traitor_ —is laughing his ass off and stumbling away, clutching his stomach and—

You _seethe_.

You suppose that's exactly why you're so willing to take her to the Naturalist Club on 4th Street.

/

You learn too much about the bunny.

It's a double-edged blade, considering the circumstances. You finally figure out her name—Judy—and it sounds exactly like her. She's the annoying liberal type with the imprinted conservative mindset and not to mention _unbearably_ impatient—two traits you find yourself exploiting because of how easily she allows you to. It's a dynamic that you find yourself entertained with; Judy, all no-nonsense and flushed all over with pure kinetic energy, and your teases and jabs that she deftly dodges.

On the other hand, she's reckless and unbearably optimistic and hasty; her thoughts are all scrambled and messy as she murmurs them under her breath while jotting down notes. She's straightforward and peppy and passionate for another. In fact, she's _too_ passionate. Her temper is too quick, her beliefs are too strong, she is too inexperienced. Everything she is, she is too much.

In twelve hours, you've figured out her strengths, her weaknesses, exactly how to push her buttons. You've found all these flaws, but when she's talking it's like they don't even exist. Her flaws are her strengths and it's _strange_.

An hour later, as Big is kissing her on the cheek, it occurs to you that her heart is too good.

For some reason, for this reason, you follow her into Rainforest District.

/

The bunny is a joke that saves your life.

She doesn't just save your life once—no, she saves your life _twice_ , which might be embarrassing if you aren't currently free falling to your death, whipping past branches and tumbling through the canopy, only to be lashed into a binding of vines, bound shoulders to feet next to the rabbit, who's pressed to your side.

Her heartbeat is fast, and her pulse is strong against your own, and you can feel the rising and falling of her chest straining against the grip of the vines. They're upside down—which is a problem, because blood's rushing to your head, and you're thinking that the thing about hanging upside down helping clear your thoughts, that's a _lie_ , because the earthy dampness of Judy next to you makes you feel disoriented. Like you had never known who she was until this moment.

And your head continues to spin on the way up the canopy again, as the captain throws offhanded comments about her being a bunny—your fists clench involuntarily and you doesn't know _why_ —and the hike up the mountain is tedious and silent and yet full of Judy; her presence is stronger than she knows and wraps its warmth into the suddenly still air.

Your head's still doing circles when she's being talked down by the captain. She looks vulnerable in this light, silvery and hooded in dark green shadows, standing in front of the buffalo, whose enormous arms gesture toward her. You're thinking again about how she's delicate and rough at the same time, because she looks like a beaten down doll left in the rain for too long. She looks ready to shatter into shards of glass and you're not too sure this time that the shards aren't going to cut you.

So you stand up. You talk back, something you've been good at for years and years, something finally having a purpose other than dealing with felonies or smooth talking your way into money, and you can feel the warmth of _Judy_ curl in your veins. You're not going to lie, it feels good to do something different.

You open the cable car door for her and you don't look back.

/

The sting of the resulting situation comes quick and fast, only hours after the press conference. Inevitable, you say, a halfhearted attempt to convince yourself that it was bound to happen anyway, but the bite stings sharp and the wound aches and simmers with sores. And it really isn't so easy to convince yourself that she was using you all along when you think back, because all of your memories are full of Judy's laughter and faith and the warmth of her against you, and maybe even something like friendship.

But wounds heal and pain subsides and you're okay, you think. It's been months after all, and it's not like you're ever going to see the rabbit again.

/

Unprecedented situations are usual for Judy Hopps apparently, and she comes racing to the bridge that you've been hanging out under. You don't know how she found you, and she doesn't bother to disclose that information to you when she bounds to your side, shouting about night howlers. All of a sudden, the sting of three months ago is fresh again. Something in you turns your back to her, something makes you walks down the end of the tunnel without a word.

And Judy Hopps is naive but not stupid, and she breaks down behind you. She's straightforward as always, brutally honest, and this time, genuinely ashamed. Her voice, normally sunny, is thick with tears.

You reach in your pocket and your claw clicks against the button of the carrot pen recorder.

You let go of a breath.

You forgive her.

"I really am just a dumb bunny," she sobs.

You smile for the first time in three months.

/

She trusts you.

And this time, as she's whispering her crazy, dangerous, _insane_ plan in your ear at the Natural History Museum, you trust her too.

/

The press isn't something that you've ever done, but during that cloudy afternoon it's easy to see that Judy acts even more of a rookie than you do. The press conference happens only hours after being taken out of the exhibit, and the two of you haven't bothered to change out of your clothes.

Judy's leaning against a crutch this time. She's clearly nervous, and she's playing with something in the pocket of her jeans; a folded slip of paper, you realize, a bit of a creamy yellow now and worn on the edges. You figure out what it is before she tells you.

"I was going to give it to you after the press conference," she confesses, taking out the application. It quivers a little as she holds it against her gingham shirt. "I kept it after the last press conference. It reminded me of you, and I wanted to return it to you one day. Ideally," here she chokes out a laugh, "a day where things were alright."

"So you still thought I was going to join the ZPD after what happened?"

"Well, sure," Judy says. Shrugs. "I wasn't kidding when I said you'd make a good cop. Or when I said that I couldn't do it without you." She hands you the application with a long breath and smiles. "I would rather stay a beat cop with you than be a detective on my own."

You take the application. It's smoother than the last time you held it, not as crisp. "Oh, you bunnies," you tease again, and a genuine smile blooms on her face as quickly as her blush does. "You all have such attachment issues. Get a grip, fluff."

"You'd be lying if you didn't say you were attached to me, seeing how fast you were willing to help me," she says back lightly.

You click your tongue and shake your head. "Don't convince yourself of delusional things," you scoff. "Are you recording this, rabbit? That's low."

She laughs.

/

You really don't see Judy face to face again until the inauguration. It takes a lot longer to become a cop than you'd originally expected, with one year of online college courses of criminal justice and half a year during that time for police academy is tough, tougher than any physical exercise you've had in a while now, but while you aren't valedictorian, you certainly aren't at the bottom of the rankings. You video chat with her a lot, with the intended purpose of _how can I poke a loophole in this exercise_ , and it ends up mostly consisting of her spewing out motivational quotes from multiple sources and your quips about the other cadets.

The inauguration arrives on the sunniest day of the year, and blue skies wraps itself over the metal folding chairs on the lawn. The two of you had chatted for hours last night, Judy practicing her speech over and over and you pretending not to be queasy; and, as you sit in your chair, you find that your nerves have only intensified since last night. Mayor Lionheart makes an appearance with a speech full of pointless rhetoric, providing hardly insightful opinions, such as "this graduating class will achieve great things!" and "these future cops will do everything to help Zootopia." You can see Judy in her blues, her paws folded in her lap, her ears down and her eyes ultraviolet.

Finally, Lionheart stops talking, and gestures to Judy, who stands up. The crowd pauses its halfhearted applause to watch her make her way up to the podium. As you're watching her, it's like deja vu; the intensity of her eyes, the uniform a little loose around her waist, delicate and rough at the same time. Except this time she's―you blink― _powerful_. There's a quiet, empathetic power about her this time, and you're thinking that if this rabbit came into intervene about some _ice cream_ , you'd take her seriously. Suddenly, your nerves evaporate in the sun.

Of course, the spell over the audience breaks when the footstool to help her reach the microphone is too short, and when she calls out "A little help?" the crowd chuckles good naturedly. That's the magic of Judy Hopps, you think. Compelling yet accessible.

Someone brings her a ladder, and she thanks them excessively, while hopping up the ladder, gripping the sides to steady herself. "I'm fine, I'm fine," she assures everyone, clearing her throat. "Not bunny friendly, I suppose."

Everyone laughs with her. She finds you in the crowd and you can see her smile widening.

"I guess that's a good place to start," she begins. She clears her throat; you know her next words already by heart. "A lot of people told me that the police academy wasn't 'bunny friendly' either. When I was a kid…"

/

"God, it's so damn hot in this car!" Judy exclaims, jabbing at the air conditioning button. "I'm freaking _burning_ to death."

They're on a patrol in Sahara Square, looking for a reckless driver that crashed into a tailor shop who drove away from the scene. It's a slow day, and the driver still hasn't shown at the supposed location, and they've been doing circles around the same couple of blocks looking for them.

"Ooh, we've got a potty mouth," you muse sarcastically. "What, can't take the heat?"

"It got plenty hot in Bunnyburrow," Judy replies defensively, rolling down the window. She groans when a wave of heat sweeps into the car. "It just wasn't this humid. Or sandy. Why is there sand everywhere?"

"Uh, it's Sahara Square?"

"Shut up, Slick." she sighs, collapsing against the driver's seat. "Why aren't you complaining? Weren't you just saying that the heat wave Downtown was making you itchy yesterday?"

You cast an amused glance at her. "I just molted."

"In one night?"

"Suffer in silence, sweetheart."

"Ugh, I hate you."

You grin. "You know you love me."

"Why do you have to pull that everyday?" she grumbles. "Yes, I do. Give me my binoculars back."


	4. wine colored hearts

wine colored hearts; or, judy and nick at new years

/

notes: wrote this on a whim. went through minimal revision and the characters may seem a little oc? anyways jack savage is here and everyone is rich and fancy and judy is somewhat bitter that's it

/

 _Distressed_ is the term that would be best fit to describe Judy when she sees Jack Savage dressed smartly in a crisp suit, drinking white wine from a bordeaux glass and talking to a pretty rabbit in a burgundy dress. It's enough, at least, to make her reach for her third flute of champagne and drink half of it in a gulp, because seeing her ex at a New Year's Eve party with another girl can often be described as distressing.

It's a party thrown at a ritzy penthouse in upstate Zootopia, thrown by some millionaire with a mini bar and good will, and all of the guests there seem of have some sort of business experience or have experience as an employee―Benjamin, apparently having been his secretary, was invited, and he'd brought Judy as his plus one to keep him sober. Benjamin's sobriety is a job done poorly, Judy's first and only job done poorly, seeing as Clawhauser has had around seven strawberry margaritas and one very brightly colored pina colada.

The people with business background are clearly in abundance at the party, and, naturally, Judy's ex is there, CEO of his family business Savage Inc. Seeing him, her desire to chat with the other partygoers significantly decreases, and, isolated from the other mingling guests, the thought occurs to her only a few minutes before midnight.

The thought makes its debut when Clawhauser stumbles to her side and slurs, "That fox is good lookin'," holding the "good" half a beat longer than necessary.

"Mm," Judy says.

"He's right on the balcony," Benjamin sings, swaying dangerously before setting himself gingerly in the bar stool next to her. "The one in the handsome suit, not the clown one. The _handsome_ one."

Despite her better judgement, she follows Benjamin's line of sight to see a fox standing outside, drinking a glass of something that looks like gin, looking long and lean and deliberately handsome. She and Ben both know that she isn't opposed to any interspecies dating, and even with the amount of alcohol she'd consumed, there's still lingering hesitation.

"Yeah, he's good looking," Judy concedes, "but he's Jack's rival."

Clawhauser's grin curls into the most mischievous look she's ever seen on him. "And isn't that the point?" he asks.

"The point?"

Ben laughs, a little hysterical. "Don't be like that, Judy," he pouts. "You know you gotta kiss someone at midnight."

Admittedly, she's a little drunker than reasoning permits, but when she sees her ex's rival the resulting thought classifies her more punch drunk than actually drunk. And she certainly considers herself as a pretty forward girl, but when she climbs off her seat and heads toward the balcony, she's pretty sure that classifies her as _brave_.

Nick Wilde is even longer and leaner up close, more attractive up close too, looking like charisma and money, the black tie tucked neatly under the button of his suit. He's―elegant. Nonchalantly elegant.

Judy is brave, especially when she begins with: "I'm Judy, and I'm Jack's ex."

His smile is sharp corners when he replies, "That's great information to know."

She presses forward. "I'm kind of buzzed. No, I'm really buzzed, maybe more than that, and Jack's here at this party, and he's kind of pissing me off." Judy releases a sigh. "Just―you know, by being there."

He laughs. "I can relate. I'm Nick. Nick Wilde."

"That's also great information to know, Nick. You seem like a good guy."

"You seem a little buzzed."

This time Judy laughs, but it sounds less assured than his, and less sober. "Yes, I thought we covered that. Anyways, that's this tradition, at midnight, right, where you kiss somebody? And maybe you should know that I'm not always petty but I think that I want to spite my ex tonight."

"And you should," he agrees, tone amicable. "There are plenty of men around that would be more than happy to kiss a pretty little thing like you."

Judy backtracks. "Uh, that's okay."

Nick raises an eyebrow.

The words leave her body in a sudden release of air: "You should kiss me."

He blinks. Then the curve of his mouth turns teasing.

"Come again?"

She swallows and closes her eyes. Blames everything on the rose tinted champagne she had earlier. "Okay, I'm tipsy," she says slowly. "It's New Year's Eve, and I just want him to know that I've moved on." She gives him a once over for a second time, and adds unnecessarily, "You're good looking, too."

He grins, and it's sharper than the vodka she can smell off the zebra passing by. "Flattering."

Her cheeks redden. "Not on purpose."

"Could've fooled me." He steps closer. The beavers behind him start counting down, a backdrop of fog from their mouths rising and thinning against his black-tipped ears. "You wouldn't have asked, I suppose, if I wasn't."

"Now you're just full of it," Judy huffs, searching for Jack, who she finds watching them with thinly veiled interest. Meanwhile, the deer nearby have started chanting with the beavers.

Nick's staring at her, a little predatory, a little amused, a little of everything as his gaze flickers to her lips.

"You want this kiss or not?"

"You're intolerable," Judy says faintly. "I see why Jack can't stand you."

"And you're petty enough to ask me to kiss you," he replies easily, sliding a paw from her hip to the small of her back. "What else should we establish?"

"Nothing new," Judy says.

The volume of the partygoers escalates as they call, "Five!"

Nick's smirk drops.

 _"Four!"_

His paw finds its way onto her cheek.

 _"Three!"_

Judy pulls him close by his lapels.

 _"Two!"_

She can feel his breath, hot against the cold of the evening air. "Jack's watching," he mumbles.

 _"One!"_

"Shut up already," she growls.

 _"Happy New Year!"_ shriek the other guests, but it's lost against the feeling of Nick's lips on her own, lost against how pressed up she is against him, the aura of warmth surrounding them as Nick nips at her lower lip, and how she actually melts. She can't feel anything except for Nick's arm around her waist and the way he slants his mouth against hers like _that_ , and she's not entirely sure if she's drunk off the champagne or the way he's kissing her.

When he pulls away, she says, "Well, I think that was pretty believable."

"Believable that we're together?" he asks. "Convinced me too."

Judy glances at Jack, who has looked away, sipping his wine with the same nonchalant delicacy as before.

"I'm not sure it did any damage," she comments.

"It's Jack Savage. He's all damage control."

Judy laughs. "Seems to me you know your rival pretty well."

"That I do," Nick agrees, then pauses. "But do you know what would really make his skin crawl?"

"What?" Judy asks.

She already knows his answer before he opens his mouth.

"We could rub it in his face," he says. He pulls his paw away from her waist, and she can feel the tips of his fingers linger there a moment. "We could keep this up. You know. Just for kicks."

Judy hesitates.

"Just for kicks," she repeats. "Hypothetically, if we were to do this, I would need your number."

Nick's face angles itself into a grin.

"And I'd put it into your phone," he replies. "And hypothetically, we would need to meet up soon."

"Of course," Judy replies. Her thoughts are getting sloppier, and being around Nick certainly doesn't help. "And if we were to do this," she swallows, "you'd kiss me like that again? Just for show? Hypothetically?"

"Definitely, if you're game."

"I am. Purely, of course, for the purpose of torturing Jack."

"Right, so am I."

"Just to be sure," Judy says, "I'd need to have you kiss me again. Just to see if you're the right fit for executing this hypothetical plan."

Judy is brave, and he is—clever.

His grin turns razor-edged again. "Understandable."

This time, when he kisses her, she doesn't look to see who's watching.


	5. the healing that i want

the healing that i want; or, nick has a sister.

/

notes: wanted to do a nick sibling fic for a while. title is from marvin gaye by charlie puth, which is kind of a sex song but the line matches. congrats to everyone behind zootopia for their golden globe and oscar!

/

"So, you're going to meet your sister today for the first time in two decades," says Judy nonchalantly that morning.

Nick chokes on his coffee, for a few reasons. It's necessary to point out at this moment that Nick has never told Judy about his sister, much less the period of time in which he hasn't spoken to her. Not only that, but all contact Nick has ever had with his sister has been severed, and the casual tone of her voice implies that this meeting has been in the works for quite a while—and the fact that Judy can spring this on him without a single nervous giggle is astounding. It's also worth noting that it is seven in the morning and Nick's coffee is not nearly as strong as he would like it to be. After her statement, it certainly needs an extra shot of something stronger than espresso.

After flailing for something to say, Nick offers weakly, "Where's your usual uniform?"

Judy looks down at her blouse and slacks and gives him a look. "I decided not to wear it because I'm doing paperwork all day, and I'm just stopping by the station to check in. Nice try, fox. Why didn't you ever tell me about her?"

"There's nothing to tell."

"Just like how there's nothing to tell about the rest of your family."

Nick bares his teeth into an unconvincing smile. "I'm glad you get it."

" _Nick_ ," Judy says in a whine that splits his name into two syllables. "You've never talked about her, ever. I had to go search up her MuzzleBook to contact her."

"How did you even find out about her?"

"I got frustrated one day," Judy replies crisply. "You've said one thing to me about your past and it's that your father left, without even bothering to tell me one of the fundamental members of your family. I can't believe you. Do you not trust me?"

"I trust you," Nick argues. "I just don't talk to anyone about my family, ever. There's just no point in bringing up the past, anyway. I like focusing on now. Hey, is that a _free_ salad bar over there?"

Judy scrubs a wrist over her mouth, a move that Nick knows as hiding a smile. "I'm not done," she says, sobering up. "I think you should go talk to her. She has something of your mom's, who _died_ , which you did not tell me about either. She wants to give it to you, and she wouldn't tell me about it the last time we went out for drinks."

Nick chokes again. "You two went out for _drinks_?"

" _Yes_ , we did, twice. She ordered a gin and tonic both times, which was very classy of her. She has cubs, did you know that?" Then, taking account of Nick's slackjawed reaction, sighs, "Of course not. Close your mouth, Nick. She's very nice and she's really sorry for what she did. And she didn't disclose that information to me, either." With a pointed look, she adds, "I'm assuming you will."

Under Judy's glare, he begins reluctantly, "It happened a few years after my dad left. My mom became sick, and my sister and I both picked up ways to get cash, my sister being eighteen and myself being fifteen. My sister had a job as a waitress and she met some fox a couple years older than her. They dated and then they eloped. I couldn't do anything about it and neither could my mom, and the going got really tough. I eventually paid all the hospital bills, but then Mom died a year later."

Judy's glower softens like butter and drips sympathetic, a reaction Nick usually finds condescending, but somehow he doesn't mind it on her. "Oh, Nick. I had no idea."

"Yeah, I know," Nick says, not unkindly. "I didn't tell you."

"This doesn't change my mind," Judy reiterates firmly, but this time without the edge. "You both have grown up and changed. I think that this meeting is a good idea."

Nick scoffs. "The last time I saw her is during my mom's funeral and that didn't go very well."

"Things can change."

"Sure."

"In other news, I've got a date at noon today with Roger," says Judy, taking a sip from her own coffee.

"That's wonderful," Nick says dryly. "How _is_ our favorite banker?"

"He's _fine_ , thank you," says Judy, exasperated but amused. "And I know you don't like him for reasons I _don't_ understand, but we're doing well. And I would come along with you to meet your lovely sister had I not had this date."

"I would suggest that you cancel if I was actually going to meet up with my sister."

"You have to go!" Judy exclaims. "She's your _sister_!"

"Unfortunately, sometimes blood isn't thicker than water, Carrots, and my sister knows that better than anyone. I'm not going."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm _not._ "

" _Yes_ ," Judy repeats, pressing her paw against his shoulder. Heat flushes his body top to bottom. "Yes, you are. I want the best for you, Nick, and the only way for you to move forward and be happier is to make amends with the past."

The way she looks at him, soft and violet, draws a long, grudging sigh out of him.

"Why do I even listen to you," he says without any bite.

Judy beams. "Because I saved your life twice. And I'm your best friend."

" _Shh_ , be quiet, the others might hear you."

She laughs, rolls her eyes. "What, that I saved your life? Already told Woolford."

"I don't know that I can trust Woolford to keep this on the down low."

"Which is why I told him."

" _Ugh_ , you ass."

"That's offensive to donkeys," Judy chirps in reply, looking pleased and too pretty in her blouse with her badge clipped to her belt. "Anyways, I said I'd meet up with Roger early today and I swear I'll finish my paperwork after lunch. Have fun with your sister, okay?"

/

He sees her in his favorite booth at one in the afternoon in at the designated meeting spot, sitting primly on the battered chairs and the vandalized wood panels and looking so out of place and alone that he almost _laughs_. It's a little ironic, he thinks, that the tables turn two decades later.

She spots him at the door, and her ears stand up—a trait that they both share with his mother. In fact, she shares a lot with his mother; she's darker than him and even more slender, dressed in demure pastel. She's staring at him now, her eyes hues of apologetic and surprised.

When he sits gingerly in front of her, she says, "Oh, Nick."

"Sandra."

She breathes in, clearly recognizing his discomfort. "I'm surprised you decided to meet me."

"Me too."

"How have you been doing?"

"Fine enough," says Nick. "Was feeling normal for once and then this happened."

Sandra ignores that. "Are you on duty right now?" she asks carefully, gesturing vaguely toward his uniform.

Nick groans inwardly, regretting not changing into his normal clothes before leaving the station. "Yes, but this shouldn't be long, right?"

"No, of course not," she replies quickly, then lowering her voice. "I wanted to say I'm sorry. For everything. For leaving you and Mom for Keith, leaving you to pay all of Mom's bills."

He says nothing.

"You don't have to forgive me," she says, and her eyes are tired. "I wanted to reconnect with you. I missed you, a _lot_ , after having Nicholas―"

"You named your child after me?" Nick asks, stunned.

She smiles at him. "Blood is always thicker than water, Nicky."

His throat closes up.

"Anyway," Sandra continues lightly, reaching in her purse. "I wanted to give to you something that Mom left us. Or left _me_."

"Then keep it."

"I think you'll need it more than me."

"I don't need money, Sandra," Nick snaps, closing his eyes, feeling suddenly irritable. "I've cleaned up my act, alright? I'm not a charity case."

"It's not money," she says. "It's this."

When she opens up her paw, he sees the glitter of sapphires on a silver band.

Nick's eyes widen.

"Is that—?"

"Mom's engagement ring," Sandra tells him quietly. "She gave it to me in her will. And, well," she looks as the wedding band on her finger fondly while Nick's stomach grips and squeezes, "I'm married already. So I want you to use it."

Nick stares dumbly at the ring, somehow gleaming purple in the sun.

"I…" he manages, "I can't take this."

"Yes, you can."

"I'm _not_ taking it," Nick interrupts. His tone is icier than he intended, and his sister shrinks a little. "Thanks for the gesture, but I don't know if I'll ever use it."

Sandra regards him, looking like she knows a secret that he doesn't, but she doesn't push any further. The glint of the ring winks at him.

"So you're a cop now?" she asks instead with a trying smile.

"If you couldn't tell by the uniform, yes."

"That's so great, Nick. Mom would be proud."

"I know," he says, a little sharp.

"You have friends on the force?"

Nick raises a disbelieving eyebrow at her. "You know the answer to this question."

"Humor me."

"Well," he begins, playing at the the edge of the napkin dispenser with his claw, "there's a couple guys on the force that I talk to. Woolford, Grizzoli, Fangmeyer. Delgato, sometimes. Francine Pennington and Rhinowitz are okay. And," he swallows, "you know Judy."

The side of Sandra's mouth lifts up slyly, and Nick thinks, _here we go_.

"So… Judy. She was the one who helped you become a police officer, right? Tell me about her."

Nick breathes in, breathes out. Smooths the navy cuffs of his uniform. Thinks, for a good few minutes, because Judy is a galaxy. How can someone describe the indescribable?

"Not much to tell," he lies through his teeth.

" _Humor me._ "

Nick shoots her a look. "Well," he begins, with a rasp in his throat. He clears it. "For one thing, she's… optimistic. _Too_ optimistic, I think, but I keep her grounded, I guess. It could be why we work, um, well together. She cares a lot. Not just about me and her coworkers, but about the people out there, which is sometimes kind of irritating but it's nice. And she's clever, whip smart, actually, and you should see her in combat, or even just looking over evidence. She can solve a case twice as fast as me. She gets kind of OCD in some ways, but she's messy― _god_ , you should see her desk; it's a nightmare, and she calls _me_ messy…"

Sandra's looking at him with a smile, one that makes Nick freeze and trail off with a lame, "And yeah."

It's absolutely _embarrassing_.

"I never thought I'd see you in love, Nicky," Sandra says after a few moments of terrible silence.

Nick glares at her indignantly. "Sandra, I'm not in _love_ with her," he hisses, "not when you say it like _that_."

She just scoffs. "You can't try that with me anymore. I'm a psychologist."

"So you finally found a way to use your creepy mind-reading abilities."

"Got a PhD in it and everything," she agrees with a smile that is two parts affectionate and one part smug. "Nick, you are in love with her. Why haven't you asked her out yet?"

Nick shakes his head. "Too messy."

Sandra sends him a dubious look. "Really?" she asks. "Because, to me, it's pretty simple. Judy has a boyfriend and you're a masochist. Want to give me a reason for that before I have to pull a detective and solve this case myself?"

"I'm surprised that the PhD wasn't in meddling in other people's business," Nick grumbles.

Sandra sends him a look.

"She's my partner," he responds reluctantly. "Bad for PR. Interspecies, for another. Let's not forget that she has a boyfriend already, and on top of that, she has a bad history with foxes, so this wouldn't make sense. And, well, she's my best friend."

He's a sap―a goddamn _sap_ , when his heart sinks and pangs pitifully after his own words―but Sandra's staring at him like there's something that she can't figure out.

"So you're telling me," she asks slowly, "that you're not asking her out because you're scared of what? Rejection? Bad publicity?"

"It's not any of that!" Nick says, flushed with sudden emotion. "I don't care about _any_ of that!"

"You're so in love with her, and you're letting yourself suffer!" Sandra retorts. "What's the real reason you're not doing it?"

"I just don't want to mess things up with her," he says, his voice lower, an appropriate volume for confessions. He finds himself twisting a napkin in his paws; it's an anxious tick. "She's my best friend—she's _perfect_ , amazing, and I could screw it up with her and lose all of it—"

"Oh my god," Sandra groans, sounding at once very young. "Just shut up Nick. Shut up."

"But I don't—"

"Just—entertain the idea. The idea that maybe the two of you might last. Forever, ideally, but there's a zero percent chance of that ever happening if you don't try." She sighs. "All that stuff from when you were little—it messed you up, Nicky, it really did. And you're head over heels for a girl but you're so scared of losing something dear to you that you won't even take a shot at something more. I mean, you'd do anything for her. You even came to have lunch with me, something you were clearly reluctant to do, but you did it because you care about her. You care about her and you won't even try."

Nick twists his napkin so hard it rips. He slowly smooths it out over the cool oak of the table and the expectant silence and says, finally, "This was a mistake."

Sandra laughs, and it sounds exactly like their mom's laugh, warm and knowing and familiar. Nick's heart aches. "You just don't like the truth," she replies. "The city's really turned you inside out."

"Twenty-so years does that to a guy."

Sandra laughs again and shakes her head.

"What?"

She traces a claw over a carving on the table and meets his gaze. Her smile is soft. "She likes you too, you know."

Nick nods slowly. "Yeah, as a friend."

"No, no, as more." Sandra tilts her head. "You can see it in her eyes, you know, every time she looks at you. She looks at you the way you look at her. It doesn't take a psychologist to notice."

This time Nick shakes his head. "That's…impossible. I mean, she's dating someone else."

"Trust me, Nick. I've talked to her about her boyfriend. She likes him and all, but _jeez_ , the way she talks about you…" Sandra looks up pointedly. "Her entire face lights up. It's very cute."

"She doesn't like people calling her cute," he mutters absently.

Sandra grins.

Nick sighs. "You're very irritating, did you know that?"

"Guess not a lot has changed since we were kids," she answers. "At least not that, anyway."

He's silent.

Sandra slides over the ring again this time, and this time he takes it numbly, staring at it for a long moment before placing it in his chest pocket.

Sandra beams. "I knew you'd take it."

"Shut up."

"You know, your buddies at the precinct have a betting pool."

Nick glares at her. "Get out of here, Sandy."

"I'm serious!" Sandra puts her hands up. "Fangmeyer says three months, Francine and Woolford say two, Del Gato and I are splitting for a month." She reaches across to pat his shoulder. "Make us proud, _bro_."

"This was definitely a mistake, _sis_."

She laughs, and Nick grins, and it feels just like the way it used to.

/

When Judy asks later about how the lunch was, all Nick can think about is the ring in his pocket. He hopes Judy likes sapphires.


	6. hidden intentions

hidden intentions; or, judy and nick prank each other on april fools day.

/

notes: started this fic on April fools day and thought that it was good to be well written, 1k words and up in two weeks maximum. i was wrong on all fronts. enjoy this silly, pointless fic.

/

It begins with 30 gallons of carrot juice and a note, and Nick knows immediately who it's from; the dead giveaway is the juice, of course, and the shit-eating grin on Judy's face also goes into consideration when she hops into work on the first day of April.

"Hey, Nick," she sings, and she's _skipping_ , goddamn, she's _cute_ and Nick would be more focused on that had he had his coffee before noticing that his keyboard is just a tub of juice.

"Hopps," he replies, _grumbles_ , shoves his sunglasses with a clumsy paw onto his belt and sighs.

" _Nick_ ," Judy says back. "I told you this year was going to be my year."

"Uh huh."

"And this is a _good_ prank. If you did this to me you would be howling."

"Mm."

"Look alive, Slick!" She bumps his leg with her hip and he almost buckles. "For the past two years that we've been partners you've gotten me with the ridiculous pranks and I finally got you back." She beams at him. "Consider us square."

"Uh huh," Nick says again with an eyeroll, mostly for her benefit, he thinks. "I'd be more open to your shenanigans if I had coffee, _but_."

Her laugh is amused and endeared and a fraction too sly.

Realization is a bitch.

"You replaced all of the coffee makers in the breakrooms with juice, didn't you."

"And all of the Snarlbucks within a two block radius," Judy carols gleefully, twirling herself into her chair, the only object in their cubicle without a cubic inch of carrot. "Most of them were _more_ than happy to repay the officer who cracked the savage animal case."

Nick groans. "I'm getting too old for your shenanigans."

"This is year my year, Nick."

/

The time it takes to walk four blocks to the third nearest Snarlbucks is more than enough time to formulate a prank, and all it really takes is a couple sheets of paper and trip to the donut shop, and the plan is set in motion when Clawhauser hands Judy a folded note.

"What's this?" Judy asks, turning around in her chair.

"A note someone left at reception," Clawhauser replies, his voice not quite blank nor innocent. Nick stares pointedly at his mugs, all filled to the brim with carrot juice. "Didn't catch a name or anything."

There's a rustle of papers as the note is handed to Judy, who reads quietly to herself, then says, "I have an admirer?"

"Seems like it," is Clawhauser's reply. Nick swivels around and finds the cheetah looking at him.

"Could be a stalker," Nick offers.

" _Nick_ ," Judy says. She smiles at Clawhauser. "Thanks for letting me know, Ben."

"Of course, Judy." Clawhauser replies, his voice sugary and roguish. He glances around the cubicle and remarks, "Someone went all out today."

"It was me," Judy says proudly. "Nick's been getting me for years, and this time I finally got him back."

"About time," Nick adds.

Judy suddenly frowns, turning toward him. "You don't have a prank for me?"

Nick shrugs. "I'm getting old, Jude."

"You're only in your thirties."

He yawns. "Thirty five. I may break a hip."

"We'll see if he comes up with something," Clawhauser says, beaming at him. "Good luck finding your secret admirer!"

/

Nick sends flowers to the cubicle on a whim.

It's a fucking _terrible_ idea, he realizes as soon as the Ottertons' niece drops off five bouquets of red roses off at the precinct, right next to Nick's chair―a cooler filled with a sea of juice. He really doesn't know why he's doing it, he's got _allergies_ , for god's sake, but when Judy sees the giant displays of violently scarlet flowers, her shock and delight warms his veins from his chest to the tips of his fingers. Delight blooms on her face wider than the roses, childlike and genuine, and Nick knows he's whipped.

"These are _gorgeous_ ," Judy swoons, inhaling deeply into them. "Thanks so much, Nancy."

"You're very welcome, Judy," Nancy Otterton replies, eyeing Nick with a poorly disguised grin. Nick rolls his eyes. "You've any idea who this is from?"

"None." Judy sighs. "I was planning on asking you."

Nick starts sneezing uncontrollably. "Whoever it is," he says between sudden bouts of sneezes, "is very good at torture tactics."

"And covering their tracks," Nancy agrees deliberately.

Nick glares at her. He should not have told Nancy about sending the flowers for Judy.

"Do I have a secret admirer or something?" Judy wonders out loud, plucking a single rose out of a bouquet and bringing it to her nose. "I mean, I know it's April Fools Day, but red roses are serious back in Bunnyburrow. Traditionally, a guy would send a girl he liked flowers to ask her out."

"Oh, you and your plants," teases Nick, before succumbing to another sneezing fit.

"I think," says Nancy, looking directly at him, "that the person who did this should come out and say if it's a prank, right Judy?"

"I'd love to know who did it," Judy agrees.

"Guess we'll wait then," says Nancy. Her eyes had never left Nick, who begins sneezing again in earnest under her pointed glance. "Hopefully he'll come out soon about his feelings."

"You don't know that he―or _she_ ―has feelings," Nick argues, quick to defend himself.

"No, it's pretty obvious," muses Nancy. "Five bouquets. One is already twenty dollars."

A terse silence follows, and from the corner of his eyes he spots Judy, looking at them with a suspicious glance on her face, before he begins sneezing again.

"Well, you two have a good day," Nancy says finally, wheeling her flower cart out of the cubicle. She winks at Nick. "Have fun keeping the streets safe!"

/

"Okay, you've got to tell Judy," Clawhauser hisses after glancing around the lobby of the precinct. It's mid afternoon and the lobby buzzes with only a few mammals. "I am _dying_ over here. Even my Gazelle music isn't enough to sustain me."

"What about the donuts?" Nick asks. "It's almost the end of your shift."

"I finished them this morning," Clawhauser says. "You got the cookies and cream ones, and you expect me to save them to more than fifteen minutes after I receive them? Were you trying to torture me? I'm not _immune_ to temptations."

"Listen to me, Ben," Nick says, leaning up toward him―not an easy feat; his head reaches only the surface of the service counter. He looks around quickly, then whispers, "I'm going to tell her today."

First, an audible, drawn out sigh of relief.

Then―

"Oh my _god_!" Clawhauser squeals. "That's so exciting! Oh, good. I mean, this was going on for _way_ too long, and you were starting to look all droopy whenever she called you _friend_ or _buddy_ ―"

"Shut _up_ , Clawhauser," Nick cuts him off, and Clawhauser nods quickly, miming closing a zipper over his mouth. "Okay. I can get you your next fix until then. I'm telling her right before we leave― _Clawhauser_ , cheese and crackers, don't make so much noise, can you just sit _still_ ―anyway. I'll get her a card and after I tell her I'll get you some more donuts, and then you can gossip." He looks expectantly at the cheetah. "Deal?"

"Yes, yes, a million times, yes," Clawhauser agrees shrilly, wearing a grin wider than he's ever seen. "You'd better hurry or I might accidentally tell someone! I'm proud of you, Wilde!"

/

His final trip lasts around an hour, which is significantly longer than he thought it would. The people at the register of the donut shop greet him for the third time that day with something like irritation, but he buys a dozen of the sweet crap that no one buys, so this time the cashier gives him the right amount of change. He finds most of his time in the local Pawgreens in the card aisle, debating over something unbearably cheesy or something more on the funny side, but all of the jokes are puns and by the time he's read the third "I'm the one 'fur' you!" he wants to scream.

He knows he's taking too much time staring at the cards when he can see a cartoon sketch of a pig cupid whenever he closes his eyes, so he picks up one that looks decent, scribbles a note, and rushes back to the precinct before one of the other tattletale beat cops can tell on him to Bogo.

Nick practically throws the dozen donuts in front of Clawhauser, who gives him two thumbs up before digging into them. He makes it back to the cubicle and composes himself just as Judy enters, absently reading over a report.

"Carrots," he breathes, nerves and the fact that he ran up all the way up there punching the breath out of his lungs. He rolls the sleeves of his shirt higher up to his elbows.

"Hey, Nick," Judy replies, suspicious. She gives him a once over, her gaze lingering on the card. "Whatcha got there?"

"Something for you," Nick manages, holding out the card. He's already forgotten the contents of the card, including his own written note, and avoids her strange look when she takes it from his paw. "Stopped by the Pawgreens on a beat route with the truck."

She places her hands on her hips, clearly unconvinced. "You're lying."

Anxiety twitches at the tips of his paws. "No, I'm not."

" _Yes_ , you are, Wilde," Judy argues. "I let Fangmeyer use the car for a case of his." She shakes her head, and when she looks back up at him, she's smiling. "Nick, the nearest Pawgreens is a mile and a half away. Silly fox. Just ask me for the car next time."

Nick laughs, but it comes out like a wheeze. "Hey, the cardio is the best part."

"Really? I think that's the farthest you've run since the academy. The last time I ran a mile with you you almost threw up."

"You insult me."

Judy rolls her eyes, then gestures to the card. "This is sweaty."

"You should open it."

She sends another quizzical look toward him, mostly because his suggestion comes out more like a question―which he mentally curses himself for―but Judy reads it nevertheless. He swallows when he hears her quietly reading it to herself under her breath, which somehow makes it ten times _worse_ , _god_ , the card is _stupid_ and his note is _horrible_ and this was a _huge mistake_ ―

"Is this your prank?" Judy asks, her voice confused and her face even more. "I don't understand."

"Um," says Nick intelligently.

"The secret admirer set this up, didn't he," Judy says suddenly, like a revelation, which makes the whole thing downright _dreadful_. "Of course he—or she—would recruit you. You would never tell me who it is."

"Actually—"

"What does this guy do all day?" Judy wonders out loud. "How is everyone in on this prank?"

Nick sighs; it's a lost cause. "I have no clue, Fluff," he lies.

"And seriously, why me?" she continues. "I'm just…me. No one special."

"Well, you're just so darn cute," Nick deadpans, tugging on her ear.

She blushes, and Nick can feel his smile tugging upward. "Don't call me 'cute'."

"And, like you said, you're the _amazing_ bunny officer that solved the savage predators case."

This time she shoves him. "Oh, shush."

Nick tugs her ear again and grins, ignoring the disappointment weighing in his chest. There would always be another time to tell her about how he felt. Right now, being friends would have to do.


	7. an open book

an open book; or, nick is a bartender and judy wants a drink.

/

notes: wrote this in one and a half sittings. very messy. very self indulgent. basically if you've watched new girl nick is nick and jess is judy. yes i made that connection because i was extremely uninspired and i would die for nick and jess

/

Judy walks _herself_ into the trap that night, in retrospect―the dim, hazy bar light buzzing above; the lack of mammals in the establishment; the miserable situation that led her here in the first place. She had only texted Kristen about her situation in a three word sentence, then dragged her feet to the nearest bar.

She looks around wearily. It only smells _slightly_ stale, which, she thinks wryly to herself, fully deserves its two and a half stars on Yelp. She gingerly moves to a stool facing the bar with a grimace. It's sticky.

"Can I help you?" calls a voice from nowhere.

Judy starts, almost falling off her stool, when the shape of a fox straightens out from underneath the counter.

"Sorry for scaring you," says the fox, not sounding all that sorry. "Manager hired a new guy yesterday, and today he shattered glass in the cooler, which is full of ice. I was just cleaning it up. Hopefully this is enough to get him fired."

Judy smiles, despite herself. "The manager doesn't sound like he knows what he's doing."

"The manager is me," says the bartender. "I'm the manager."

"Sorry," Judy says, embarrassed.

He waves her off.

"You're fine. I _don't_ know what I'm doing. You know, you're a character."

"I've barely said two words."

"And yet I know so much about you already." He leans closer to her when she scoffs disbelievingly. "I bet you're from the country. Deerbrooke County? Sheephorn Hills?"

"Bunnyburrow," she says, surprised. "How did you know?"

"Well, that much was obvious," he says with a grin, leaning against the counter."You've still got a shadow of an accent, you know. It's well hidden, but there." He pauses for a moment. "Bet you're competitive too."

Judy blushes, then frowns. "I didn't know I was so easy to read."

"You're not. I can just read you faster than most."

"You must think you're real smart, don't you," Judy deadpans.

He winks. "I prefer the term 'well-read'."

Her phone buzzes with a text. Judy glances down at her paw; it's from Kristen.

 _I know you're at the bar, Judy. Is it the gross one a block away from your house?_

Judy hesitates, but before she can even reply, her phone buzzes with: _I knew it._

"Who's that?" asks the bartender.

"No one."

"Right," he says. " _No one_."

Judy sighs. "It's my best friend. She's being annoyingly intuitive."

"About what? The reason that you're moping at a bar? I'd love to know myself."

Judy drops her phone in her purse and dumps it on the bar. "I would really," she says, "truly appreciate it if you would stop prying and pour me a drink."

"Aw, you're no fun," says the fox easily. "Let me guess. Break up? Pet died? Identity crisis?"

She scowls. "I am not discussing my life problems to a bartender whose name I still don't know."

He grins, sharp. "It's Nick."

" _Nick_. Please pour me something fruity and alcoholic."

"Got it. Who's tab should I put it on?"

"Judy Hopps." She hesitates. "Do not use knowing my name as an excuse to connect with me personally."

"Wow, you _do_ need a drink. Kidding," he adds quickly under Judy's tired glare.

As Nick pours her drink into a glass, her phone buzzes again.

 _At least reply to me; it's common etiquette to not leave people on read. Is the hot bartender there?_

Judy glances at Nick. She hadn't noticed until this moment, but he certainly isn't bad looking, all cunning smiles, wearing a button up shirt. _If you're talking about the fox,_ she types back quickly, flushing, _his name is Nick and he is making me a pineapple mojito._

The reply is fast: _Ugh, you sound like a college girl on spring break._ Then, _Please tell me you're getting his number._

"Seriously, who are you texting? The intrigue is killing me," says Nick, setting the glass on the bar, sounding both genuinely curious and sarcastic at the same time.

"I thought I said no prying?"

"I don't recall agreeing to your terms," Nick says amusedly. "Is it your boyfriend?"

"I…don't have a boyfriend," Judy says.

The sardonic cut of his smile grows.

"In which case," he says, sliding a business card across the counter, "here is my number."

Judy scoffs, and smiles. "Quick to make a move, huh?"

"What gave me away?" He uses a claw to slide it closer to her when she doesn't immediately pick it up. "If you let me take you on a date, then we can get to know each other. And then we'll be close enough for me to figure out what misery plagues you tonight and drove you to this awful bar."

Judy pockets the card. "That's a real roundabout way of trying to figure out what's wrong with me."

He bares a grin at her. "I'm tenacious."

"My boss laid me off," says Judy after a moment of considering whether to tell him. "I guess the rule for layoffs is the first one in gets out, right?"

"That stinks," Nick says. His voice is the most understanding she's heard all night. "Good thing I made that drink extra strong, huh?"

Judy takes a sip and grimaces. The liquor burns the way down. "I'm _that_ predictable?"

"No, you just seemed like you could use the drink." He studies her face. "I guess since you told me what was bothering you, the date offer is void?"

Even though his tone is flippant, Judy can feel Nick's mild disappointment. She says, coy, "There's still a lot more you don't know about me."

His ears perk up, and Judy hides her smile behind a sip of her drink. "Yeah?"

"You can find out. That is, if I still feel like calling you."

His grin is somehow both earnest and sly. "I should pour you another drink before you change your mind," he says.

Judy's phone buzzes; it's another message from Kristen. _Should I be worried that you're not replying?_

She clumsily types back, _I think I'm feeling better._

 _I knew it_.


	8. senior send-off

senior send-off; or, the one where nick graduates. (high school au)

/

notes: hello my friends it has been _way_ too fuckin long! pretty sure i'm one of three people still posting zootopia fic! i'm not even gonna apologize for my work at this point let's get into it

psst the high school au chapters are: _2\. black treacle_ & _8\. senior send-off_

/

The room is dappled with sunlight when Judy enters that afternoon. The entire school is quiet, except for the cafeteria, where members of the student body are setting up for graduation night. Expecting the classroom to be empty, she starts when she sees the bright orange figure clothed starkly in black robes, slouched in a seat in the otherwise barren classroom.

The figure says, "Hello, old man."

Silence, and then Judy doubles over laughing.

"I can see now that it's not dear old Levings," he remarks, and Judy recognizes Nick's voice now. He still hasn't turned around. "Hey, Judith."

"Oh, Nick," gasps Judy, making her way toward him. She tries to calm herself down. "What are you doing here? Expecting company?"

"Just wanted to annoy our calculus teacher one last time before he gets laid off," he replies, grabbing her paw when she stands next to him and swinging it. "We both know that booze-soaked frat boy is the first to go. Also, I stole his landline for three months and he didn't notice." He points with their interlocked paws. "I returned it today."

"Delinquent," Judy accuses without malice.

"Pshaw, you love it."

"I don't, actually."

They remain in agreeable silence for a moment, before Nick pats the chair in front of him.

"Have a seat. Your legs must be tired from running in my mind all day."

Letting go of his paw, she pushes his snout with a snort, but takes the seat anyway, her back toward him. "Are you just in here to annoy our teacher?" She looks around the space. "Isn't this your least favorite classroom?"

"Contrary to popular belief," Nick says, "it's my favorite classroom in the school."

Judy knits her eyebrows. "What changed your mind?"

"'Changed my mind?' I've always liked this classroom. Since I met _you_ here, that is."

She blushes. "That's so sweet, Nick."

"It is, isn't it? I had such a huge crush on you. Blergh. How unbecoming of me."

"Of course," Judy agrees. "How embarrassing for you."

" _No_ , not like that." He laughs, dropping a kiss on her head from behind. "I remember that I couldn't stop thinking about you. All your little quirks. I'd bug you all the time, just to make you annoyed: you were the cutest when you got angry."

"I was tormented everyday, yes. I couldn't stop thinking about you either—how much I wanted to strangle you."

"Oh, please. You liked it. Fru Fru and Clawhauser told me."

Judy scoffs. "They were _lying to you_ , obviously."

She can practically feel it when he winks. "Were they? Regardless. Since I met you in this classroom, it's been my favorite place in this school."

Judy turns around and plants a quick kiss on his lips, pulling back to study him. His fur is handsome and coarse with the gold light of the afternoon sun, already looking like a memory. "Mine too," she says finally.

Nick breathes out, long and lingering. "And now I have to leave."

She can see it in the tilt of his shoulders, the space between his eyebrows; the topic has shifted. It's something they've already discussed; they sat under starlight while Nick drank bottles of Cub Light and Judy was too upset to pretend to be mad at him. "Zootopia University isn't too far from here."

"Right."

"I'll take the train to see you every weekend."

"Sure, I'll show you off to all of my college friends, and they'll make fun of me for being whipped."

"And we can MuzzleTime everyday, just to prove their point."

The corner of his mouth lifts wryly. "And I'll come home for breaks and holidays."

"You'd better," says Judy. She presses her paw to his cheek. "It's gonna be alright, right?"

Nick's smile is reassuring. "Right."

"Right."

He takes her wrist and presses it against his chest, and his heartbeat is steady. Judy closes her eyes.

Nick sighs theatrically.

"This is what I get for robbing the cradle. Heartbreak and angst, countless tears shed. I'll never live without you."

Judy opens her eyes and narrows an amused look at him. "Oh, stop," she says. "Drama queen. How do you even function?"

"I don't function. You're the one that keeps these old gears going."

Judy laughs. "When did you get so sappy?"

He closes his eyes. "I think I've always been a romantic."

"Sure, a romantic that creeps on sophomores."

"Hm. If you want to look at it that way, then sure." He cracks an eye open with a lazy smirk. "A creep that you're stuck with for a long, long time."

Nick sighs again, childishly. Judy smiles. The room glows golden.


End file.
